


Ghost Writers

by mrsvoldewhore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hermione Granger Needs a Hug, Hogwarts Era, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Neither Can Mary, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Regulus Black Can't Keep A Secret, Slow Burn, Smut...? Maybe. If enough people want it., They Refuse to Hug Each Other, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsvoldewhore/pseuds/mrsvoldewhore
Summary: Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are sent back in time to the Marauder's Era, where they will come together to re-write history in honor of the family and friends they left behind.With no way to return home, they have no choice but to adjust to the life they've been given - a life where they've been de-aged and must repeat their years at Hogwarts, starting from mid-Fifth Year. While Hermione is intent on changing the future in secret, Draco remains silent, subdued to fear that his words and actions might change too much. Soon they'll find their wishes clashing, and it's only a matter of time before the other finds out.Despite their desire to stay as far away from one another, factors that are not within their reach bring them together; including diaries, an adamant Dumbledore, and in the end, their knowledge.(No love triangles. I cannot stand them. I prefer my ships to be centered between the two people in question, but in a slow-burn fashion.)
Relationships: Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom, Draco Malfoy & James Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger & Marlene McKinnon Friendship, Hermione Granger & Mary Macdonald Friendship, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Minerva McGonagall/Poppy Pomfrey, Regulus Black & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Regulus Black/Mary Macdonald, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	1. No Way Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> **The spacing is strange because I copy and pasted it weirdly from Google Docs. It's normal from Chapter Two onwards. (Scratch that. I fixed it.)

_“What the hell?”_

Instead of the familiar bars of the bunk, Hermione found herself staring at a plain white ceiling. She allowed her gaze to wander as far as it could reach without shifting her neck. As various explanations ran across her mind, each thought equally as ludicrous as the next, her heart rate began to pick up. Lips parted, she could barely croak out Harry’s name, or Ron’s. 

Before Hermione could give another lame attempt, a woman was at her side. _Madam Pomfrey._ Disregarding the pain shooting through her back, the girl tried to sit up, ignoring the aches all together. Pomfrey gave her a stern look, but still guided Hermione through the motion, before offering her a glass of water. Eagerly, she accepted.

“Where...where’s Harry? And Ron? Where’s Ron?” 

Pomfrey raised a brow, peeking through her curtains for only a moment. “If you are referring to the boy who accompanied you, he is currently speaking with Dumbledore—the headmaster.”

She shook her head. “We can’t be here. We have to go back.”

“Now, really, I don’t know what you’re going on about, but it is to my knowledge that this was either you or your friend’s decision.” Pomfrey let out a disapproving noise. “Apparating underage…”

“Underage? I’m-” Hermione paused. “I’m...confused.”

“Yes, well, confusion is a symptom of lack of sleep. Go on then. Rest up. You can clear this up in the afternoon.”

Hermione hesitantly laid back, watching Pomfrey disappear through the curtains with calculating eyes. She waited until a door clicked, indicating that the older woman was no longer in the room, before carefully standing up. There atop of her bedside table was a small piece of parchment with “toffee eclairs” inscripted.

She shook her head slightly and squinted at the scribble of writing. After a moment of thought, Hermione’s eyes widened at the recollection of Pomfrey’s words. _Dumbledore._ Hermione couldn’t string together a rational thought that could possibly explain her predicament. It took a few minutes, but she concluded her situation was either of two things. One, she was dead, and the password to Dumbledore’s office was a one way ticket to the afterlife. Or two, Dumbledore tricked his death. There was also the possibility Pomfrey had slipped up and accidentally said her late headmaster’s name, but it was the casual tone she carried that led Hermione to think otherwise. 

Whether it was a good idea to head to Dumbledore’s office or not, Hermione took the risk. It was to her surprise the deadly silence in the halls. She half expected to bump into a death eater or two, but luck seemed to be on her side, and she was able to pass through to her destination with ease. Only twice did she hide in an alcove out of sheer practice. She could never be too careful. 

“Toffee eclairs.”

The gargoyle stepped aside, allowing Hermione to enter, only for her to find Dumbledore seated at his desk, deep in conversation with another student. She openly gaped at her headmaster just as he took notice of her stiff presence. 

“Welcome, Miss…?”

She was supposed to answer with “Granger” but her mouth decided to refuse any coherent answer. Her eyes took in the office, searching for any hint of a higher being awaiting her. Because there had to be. Had to be. 

“I...you...what?”

Dumbledore gave her a small smile as a way of greeting, before gesturing to the open seat which sat in front of his desk. “I find no reason to hesitate—please, ask away.”

“How are you still alive?” Hermione rushed out, her feet carrying her to the empty chair. 

His amused gaze flickered to the side and she followed the line of direction, eventually meeting a familiar stare. _Malfoy. Draco Malfoy._ Last time she checked, he was almost the reason Dumbledore died.

“What did you do?”

“Drop the glare, Granger—I did us a favor.”

She sharpened her glower. “And what is that exactly? And where’s Harry and Ron?”

Hermione stared as Malfoy reached over and grabbed an object from Dumbledore’s desk. He held it up for her to see and it took a minute for her to recognize what he was grasping. 

She involuntarily took a step back as her mind wracked for answers, which only came through quick, passing memories. They were at Malfoy Manor—all of them—and she saw it. She saw the time turner laying on the ground. 

Hermione glanced to her arm and wondered if time really did heal all wounds. She finally sat down, allowing all of her unspoken questions to be answered by Dumbledore. He went on to explain that Malfoy nabbed the time turner back in his fifth year, somewhere in Dolores Umbridge’s office, and never thought much of it until the incident. She frowned at that. She didn’t understand why he waited to use it. 

Malfoy lost it at some point during the interrogation and he went to go look for it just as Hermione was to be tortured. She wondered if he was genuinely trying to help her, or was using it as an excuse to shy away from her writhing body on the floor of his home. She didn’t ask. What Malfoy saw when he returned was Hermione with her hand stretched out, reaching to grab it, and his aunt drawing her wand. He lunged for the time turner just as Bellatrix’s spell hit it, and they were both pulled back in time. It was 1976. 

“You see, this has been a very difficult, very secretive project of mine. I am not aware of how this landed in your possession during your time, but it holds great power.”

Hermione looked at Dumbledore with curious eyes. “Is it similar to the ones at the Ministry?”

“This one in particular is not for repeated uses.” Her heart dropped at his words. “And I am afraid that there is no copy in its usual hiding place. I intended for it to take its own place when jumping unlike the time-travelers themselves, as well as de-age them in the process.”

_No way back._ “So there’s no way back?”

“If you were to find a way to return to your own time, the effects would be...life altering.”

“I would age 23 years...” Dumbledore nodded. “That’s...Merlin’s- _fuck. Fuck._ ” Hermione stood up abruptly. “I’m not feeling well, so...I think I’ll just head back up to Madam Pomfrey’s. Excuse me.”

She didn’t bother to wait for a response, and parted ways with her headmaster, directing herself to the hospital wing. She worried herself over the thought of what Harry and Ron were thinking. They probably thought she was dead and buried somewhere in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. Hermione grimaced, turning the corner. 

“Oh, sorry,” Hermione muttered as she collided with another body. She bent down to reach for their books and held them out at arm’s length. 

“No problem at all.” 

She gawked as her eyes took in the boy before her. _“Harry?”_

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile shadowing his lips, yet his eyes were narrowed down at her. “No, James, but you can call me whatever you’d like.” 

Her stare widened considerably. “Oh, er, sorry.”

James stared for a moment before shrugging it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, Prongs, you just missed it...oh, am I interrupting something?” Hermione shifted her gaze to the boy who came up beside Harry’s father. Sirius was almost unrecognizable with how he carried himself. He seemed so much lighter— _happier._

“It’s alright,” she blurted. “I, er, have to get going. It was nice to meet you.” Nodding slightly towards James, Hermione hastily made her exit. 

Guilt was beginning to weigh down her heart. If anyone deserved to go back in time, it was Harry. He should’ve been the one to meet his parents. Relive a better life. 

Pomfrey stood beside Hermione’s abandoned cot, fixing it up, just as she entered the wing. “Oh, good, you’re back. I suggest taking a calming draught. You never know when the after-effects of the cruciatus curse will take place—quite terrible that unforgivable is.”

“What exactly happened?” Hermione inquired, laying back down. 

“I figured you would tell me. Two sixteen year olds find a way to break through Dumbledore’s wards and land in his office. One, who looks like he hasn’t slept a wink in weeks, and the other, twitching and,” Pomfrey looked away, “scarred. I don’t normally pry, but an unforgivable? On a child, no less?”

“Sixteen? I’m-” she stopped, remembering what her headmaster had said. “How do you know? Specifically, how do you know my age?”

“Magic.” 

“Right.” Hermione wanted to smack her head against the wall. “How long has it been since then?”

“A few days,” Pomfrey answered. “The boy, Mr. Malfoy, I believe, woke up yesterday.”

“Did he say anything worth mentioning?”

With curious eyes, the older woman raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps, you should talk to him yourself.”

Fat chance. “Thank you for covering it,” Hermione uttered after a moment of silence. 

Pomfrey pursed her lips. “You’re welcome.”

“Could I rest for a bit? I, er, never got the chance to earlier.”

Now alone with the curtains drawn, Hermione reached over to the table beside her and grabbed her beaded bag. It swallowed her arm as she picked through the contents in search of one of the few photographs she had brought with her before horcrux hunting. When a smooth surface brushed against her fingertips, she grasped it, and drew the picture out. 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she studied the image with a glazed stare. Her last words to her loved ones weren’t even significant enough to recall. And to think that the next time she saw any of them would be as an unrecognizable woman—someone who they wouldn’t think twice of when crossing paths at King’s Cross.

Hermione returned the photograph and rubbed her face a few times to wipe away any traces of sadness. There was too much to think about. Too much to feel. She wondered what good it would do her to erase her memories and start over. She could pretend to live a blissful life full of ignorance. But she couldn’t do that to her family and friends. Ginny would’ve smacked her upside the head for even thinking such a thing. 

She picked through her bag for the rest of the afternoon, ignoring the constant voice in the back of her head that was keen on reminding her how much she could change—how much she could do for Harry—for everybody. But as time went on, as each item she pulled proved its usefulness in defeating Lord Voldemort, Hermione realized there was no other way to go about it. She needed to do this. She needed to continue to hunt for horcruxes. 

Because she couldn’t _not_ do it. 

***

“I thought it would be best to place you two in the same house—Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor, is aware of the situation and is more than willing to help the transition run smoothly. Although, I am sure you already know of her position here at Hogwarts.”

Malfoy, who was seated on a cot from across Hermione, made a noise of disapproval. “This is ridiculous. A Malfoy sorted in Gryffindor? How embarrassing.”

The two Gryffindors in the room glanced at each other before ignoring his outburst. “As for your guardians, the friends which I had written to, agreed and are happy to help. At your request, Mr. Malfoy, I kept your original surname during registration at the Ministry, and I do believe we’ve already gone over who’s taking you in, yesterday morning, yes? You’ll act as Alphard Black’s adopted son?”

He only nodded in response. 

Dumbledore then turned to Hermione. “Miss Granger, are you familiar with the name 'Hector Dagworth-Granger'?”

“The potioneer—yes, I’m familiar.” 

“As it turns out, you’re linked to Hector as his great-granddaughter. I explained bits and pieces of your presence, but as for details, the choice is yours if you desire. You do not have to tell him the whole story.”

Hermione blinked. “Oh...thank you.” 

Dumbledore gave her a small smile. “You’re schedules,” he said, handing out two long pieces of parchment. She realized in that moment, she would have to take her O.W.Ls once more. “Class will begin shortly. Sherbet lemon before you leave?”

She shook her head and made for the door. Hermione felt around in her school bag to confirm her beaded bag was still in there before searching for any familiar faces in the corridors. She had spent the night jotting down certain events and relationships she could hopefully alter, but in order to do so, she would have to make friends with the right people. 

“Oh, hey, you’re that new girl James bumped into.”

Hermione caught the eyes of Sirius Black from beside her and smiled weakly. “Hello.” 

He chuckled. “Hello. I see that you’ve been sorted.” He gestured to her tie. “You must feel pretty lucky for that one.” 

“Oh, er, yeah. Gryffindor seems...great.” Her lack of enthusiasm nearly killed her. “So!” She cringed. “Where are you headed? Wait. Nevermind. We’re in the same year.”

“You’re a Fifth year as well? How did y’know that?”

“You look...young—er, as young as me.” Sirius gave her a weird look and she mentally berated herself. “What I meant was that...Professor McGonagall mentioned you! Yeah…I just...was joking about the whole “young” thing.” Hermione laughed it off.

“You’re very awkward.”

She rubbed at the spot between her brows and sighed. “I promise I’m really not. I just haven’t- I just haven’t done this in a while.” 

“No worries.” He patted her shoulder. “I actually know a girl you'd probably get on with. I can introduce you two if you’d like.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lily Evans. Slughorn favorite—Slughorn is the name of our Potions Master, by the way—and totally has it out for James.” Not for long, Hermione thought to herself. “Can’t say it isn’t entertaining to see them go at it during mealtimes each day, but it does get a bit much from time to time. Say, want a place in the bet?”

“Bet?” She questioned.

“Yeah, we have a bet on who’ll be the first to take it too far. This whole hatred routine has got to change at some point. The question is, in what way? Will it get worse? Will it get better? That’s the beauty of being a bystander. We get to bet.”

“I’m not sure Evans would appreciate if I-”

“Oh, come on. It’s harmless. Besides, she’s off in her own world most of the time—she doesn’t have to find out. Neither does James and he’s my best mate.”

“Who did you bet on?” Sirius smirked and shook his head. “Fine, then. James.” 

“You don’t even know the bloke and you’re betting on him?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re not seriously defending him, are you? Besides, you’ll see. I’m always right.”

“You sure sound confident for a new girl.”

“Is it too much?” She asked, abruptly.

Sirius frowned. “Huh? No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Oh...er, when I was younger I used to be very...well, the point is people didn’t like the way I acted. I suppose I don’t blame them looking back. It’s hard to shake off a know-it-all attitude.”

“Well, I’m surrounded by plenty of know-it-alls-”

“And by plenty, he means Remus.” 

Hermione jumped at the sound of James’ voice coming up from behind them. 

“Pleasure to see you again- _wait,_ what’s your name again?”

“I never said, but it’s Hermione,” she replied. 

“Cool. I see you’ve met Sirius. Did he say anything about me?”

Hermione gave him a quick smile, entering the Potions classroom. “Not anything bad.”

“ _Not anything bad, she says._ Knowing him, he’s probably tainted my good name. Well let me tell you something about Sirius-”

“Choose your next words carefully, Prongs.” 

James rolled his eyes and winked at Hermione. “I’ll tell you later.” 

Hermione sat at an empty desk, smiling to herself. It filled her heart to see Sirius with James. They were much friendlier than she expected. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

She craned her neck to meet the eyes of her former professor. It took a moment for her to realize it was Remus Lupin peering down at her, but eventually she gave a stiff shake of the head and looked away. 

“Where’s Peter?” Hermione heard James inquire from behind her. “I wanted to show him that new wand trick I mastered.”

“Said he wasn’t feeling well after eating that dusty chocolate frog this morning,” Lupin responded.

James cursed. “I was saving that.”

“Morning, class.” Slughorn greeted as he passed through the aisle. “As you may or may not have noticed, we have two new transfer students joining us—Draco Malfoy and Hermione Dagworth-Granger, correct?”

She gave a short nod. 

“I must say it’s rather surprising for you two to be joining us this late into the year, but you’re welcome, nonetheless.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you.” She then gave a sidelong glance to Malfoy whose expression remained blank. 

The rest of the hour was spent preparing for a potion that they would make over the course of the week. To Hermione’s luck, she was partnered with Lupin, who had given her curious looks all throughout class. She had half a mind to directly question him, but in the end thought against it. 

She was packing away her materials when she heard him clear his throat. Looking up, Hermione caught his searching eyes. “Yes?” she questioned.

“You wouldn’t happen to be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, would you?” 

Slughorn came up from behind her and gave Hermione a good clap on the shoulder, his jolly voice breaking through their conversation. “Why she just so happens to be his great-granddaughter, if you can believe it. I expect only great things from you, Miss Dagworth-Granger. I hope you’ll accept my invitation to a gathering I’m holding next weekend—just a small get together—Evans and Snape are coming as well. Oh, it would be greatly appreciated if you could come. Wouldn’t it, Lupin?”

The boy tilted his head slightly before realization dawned on him. “Oh, er, yeah. You should go.”

Despite her troubled experience with the Slug Club, Hermione accepted with a weak smile. The last thing she wanted to do was outcast herself. When she left the room, Lupin was on her trail, keen on picking up their conversation. 

“I know it’s too late to warn you, but those parties of his are a bit of a drag, according to Peter.”

“Peter?”

He mistook Hermione’s surprise as a question and answered promptly, “Peter Pettigrew—friend of mine. Anyways, James mentioned you yesterday.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “He seems to make a big deal out of the small things. I barely said a word to him, really.”

“I know.” Lupin chuckled. “It’s just that you called him by a different name, and it may have not seemed like it, but he was deeply offended.”

She inwardly cursed. “Oh, then, tell him I’m sorry?”

“No, no, you don’t have to worry about apologizing or anything, he just didn’t realize you were new. Thought someone actually didn’t know him.”

“Oh... _oh_.”

“Yeah, Dumbledore said something about two transfers last night before dinner, so. It was quite entertaining seeing James put two and two together. He can be a bit slow.”

Hermione laughed. 

“This may be a bit much, but I was wondering if you could pass on a letter from me to your great-grandfather. I understand if you don’t want to—I’m only a classmate after all and you don’t even know me, but to be honest, I’m a bit desperate at this point.”

“Oh?” Hermione was more than willing to help him. The only problem was that she had yet to meet Hector Dagworth-Granger herself. “Is it school related?”

“Does it have to be?” 

She shook her head and said, “Just wondering.” It was to her knowledge that Remus Lupin wasn’t even that much of a potions expert himself. Although there was a chance his lack of ability hadn’t deterred his interest in the subject. 

“It’s just a question, I have. Nothing inappropriate, and it could be seen as purely academic. I really am just curious, honest.”

“It’s no problem. I planned on sending a letter myself this evening, anyways. You can meet me in the owlery before dinner.”

Lupin grinned at her and expressed his gratitude. Hermione had a feeling what his letter was about and felt a tinge of guilt seep into the back of her mind. He was not going to get the answer he was looking for. The Wolfsbane Potion had yet to be invented, and she wasn’t even sure if Hector had a strong connection to Damocles Belby. 

Later on that evening after Hermione and Lupin had left the owlery, they headed to the Great Hall. Her school day had gone by without incident, to which she was sorely grateful for. It had been a long while since she last sat in a classroom and enjoyed a lecture. Although this time around, she kept silent, and Hermione came to notice, Malfoy did as well.

“Did you two come together?”

Hermione looked up from her plate and stared at Sirius with furrowed brows. “Come again?”

“You and Remus. I saw him chatting you up in the halls.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “What were you guys doing before you came?”

“Sending letters…?”

“Is that a secret language of some sort?” he questioned. “Did he send you into-“

Realization dawned on her. “What? No! Merlin, you’re quick to jump to conclusions.”

Sirius laughed. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Ha.” She shook off the disgusted feeling in her stomach. Her best friend’s Godfather had just joked about her shagging her ex-professor. Had she gone mad? 

“Ignore him, Hermione,” said Remus. “He’s always like this.”

Sirius hummed. “Already on a first name basis...huh. I assume you guys are getting on, then? Remus has always been good with the birds around here. Something about his quiet nature.”

“He doesn’t seem all that quiet to me,” Hermione replied, glancing at the subject of her words.

“It’s all a persona with this one. Some may call him a wild beast.” 

Remus narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “Sirius.”

“I am serious.” He laughed. “The ladies go barmy for the quiet ones. Wouldn’t you agree, Her-my-oh-knee?”

Hermione couldn’t help the snort that came out of her. “What was that?”

“It’s called careful pronunciation with a name as delicate as yours,” Sirius responded.

She was reminded of time she spent with Viktor Krum and shook her head slightly, a small smile on her face. “I prefer a simple ‘Hermione’, thank you very much,” she said. 

“Cool. Hermione it is,” came James from across her. “I’m James, by the way.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I know.”

“Good. Just making sure,” he said, before piling his plate with food. “Peter said he’ll be fine by tomorrow. Pomfrey’s making him stay the night.”

“We should sneak in later,” suggested Sirius. “We can keep him company. It’s such a bore being up there all by yourself.”

Hermione looked back down at her plate with a frown. The boys cared for one another, that she knew. But she also knew what would become of their best friend, and she wasn’t sure if she could prevent it. Even if she did, Hermione was aware of the potential Peter had—what he’d be willing to do.

“Hey, Malfoy, I’ve been wondering,” she heard Sirius start, “are you related to Lucius Malfoy? You sure do look a lot like him.”

Hermione stared at the boy just beside James. The Gryffindor table was stuffed, and having to sit next to his former nemesis’ father seemed to drain all life from him. His features were set into an impassive look, as it had been all day long. No change whatsoever. She looked away. 

He must have done something to satisfy Sirius’ curiosity, though, because the boy next to Hermione looked back towards her. 

“Do you know him?” Sirius asked. 

“What?”

“You really need to work on your listening skills,” he replied, but continued on, anyway. “Do you know him? You guys arrived at the same time, didn’t you? Did you guys go to the same school or something?”

“Oh, er...we’re cousins.”

“No, we’re not.” It was the first time she heard Malfoy speak apart from their morning in the hospital wing.

“We’re friends.”

“No.”

“Neighbors?”

Malfoy shook his head.

“We’re acquaintances,” Hermione settled, giving him a look that dared him to speak against her word. “Our guardians work together, so we see each other from time to time.”

“Then why did you say all that other stuff, then?” Remus inquired.

“Erm...I like to piss him off.” Hermione prayed it would be an acceptable explanation.

“Good on you, Hermione,” Sirius praised, and she internally sighed with relief. “Though, I’m still curious where you guys attended before here.”

“We were home-schooled. Not together—just...coincidentally.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Remus. “You were, after all, learning from the best. Well, I assume Hector was the one to teach you, but I could be wrong.”

Before she could respond, James finally set down his fork and looked up. “Why did you stop? And at the same time? There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

Hermione cursed him in her head. “Well...my great-grandfather and his father...decided to begin a project of sorts. It’s a personal one and kept under wraps, so we don’t know much about it, but they said it’ll keep them busy. That’s when we transferred.”

“Good thing Hogwarts accepted you,” Sirius stated while James lifted a brow. 

“So everybody else in your guys’ family was preoccupied as well?”

There was nobody else, but Hermione wasn’t going to admit that. “Yeah, I suppose.”

James hummed. “Interesting.”

Hermione’s heart rate slowed down as the conversation shifted and she was able to take a sip of water. Lying on spot was no easy task and it wasn’t as if Malfoy was helping. 

Just before she had left the Great Hall, the Headboy came up to her and Malfoy and told them Dumbledore was expecting them in his office. It surprised her at how close their next meeting was upon them. 

“I’m sorry to disturb your evening, but I was hoping to speak to you two. Please, sit.” 

The two did as asked and looked expectantly at their Headmaster.

“Now, this may sound...strange, but I believe there is no point in delaying the message. I am not aware of what the future brings, but I am sure the pair of you know what is occurring outside these castle walls.”

They both remained silent.

“I understand if you two wish to not speak on the matter, but I do ask for you to consider my proposition. The Order, a small group of witches and wizards I have gathered to fight against those dark forces, are willing to work with you. In exchange for your knowledge and information, we will offer whatever the both of you desire. It’s only a matter of working- what is it that the muggles say? ‘Behind the scenes’?”

_To rewrite history..._

It was silent in the room for a few moments before the boy next to her broke it.

“I don’t know about Granger here, but I’d rather not fight this war.”

Hermione watched as Malfoy stood to his full height, and quickly copied his actions. “I...I don’t know, professor.”

“Don’t bother worrying yourselves over it. You two have plenty of time to think it over.”

As Hermione made her way out of the office there was only one thought on her mind.

She had no plans on becoming some sort of ghost-writer.


	2. Dicko Malfuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> If the flow seems a bit weird, let me know. I don't normally shit out chapters this fast, so I didn't have time to overthink the pacing.

Hermione contemplated taking her beaded bag with her to classes once again.

She felt safer when it was on her person. So much that she checked its presence every hour, desperate to make sure it was there and within her reach. But there were so many factors that could potentially change its state of safety. Parading around with the bag was reckless.

In the end, Hermione stashed it away in her school bag and headed for the door. 

Although the meeting with Dumbledore was a swift gathering, she had arrived late into the night, the day previous, due to her time spent in the Room of Requirement. The area had transformed into _her_ common room, and she spent a long while hanging copies of the photographs she kept with her on the run. By the time she returned to her dormitory, the girls had fast fallen asleep and she couldn’t introduce herself. 

It was with great courage that she walked into the Great Hall and sat beside Harry’s mother. 

“Good morning,” Hermione greeted with the most genuine smile she could muster. 

“Oh.” Lily inclined her head at the witch. “Hello. You’re one of the new transfer students—Dagworth, right?”

“She prefers Hermione, if you didn’t know.”

Hermione tensed at the sound James’ voice. 

“I wasn’t asking _you_ , you twit,” Lily hissed before redirecting her attention to the girl who sat next to her. “Sorry, I heard some of our classmates refer to you by your surname yesterday—I only assumed-“

“It’s fine, really,” Hermione returned, waving the matter off. “Erm, Sirius mentioned you-“

Another interjection ensued. “I bet he did.” Lily’s expression darkened, her eyes narrowing at Hermione’s glass of water. “I swear to Merlin if that shaggy haired prick-“

“Oh, come off it, Evans. You’re not even gonna give him the benefit of the doubt?” James raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, please.” She laughed derisively. “He told a first year Hufflepuff that I throw misbehaving students off the Astronomy tower in secret. I’m a prefect not Mr. Filch!”

“Notice how she didn’t deny the fact, Hermione?” 

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to get a rise out of me.”

“I think he already did,” said Hermione, amusement dancing in her eyes. She couldn’t wait until the day they finally fell in love. “Anyways, Sirius only said we’d get along—I thought I’d introduce myself.”

Hermione held her breath as she anticipated Lily’s reaction. Confidence only fell into her grasp during times she knew something to be true—when her answer could not be argued with, because she would always be the one to prove it right. People, though, were not something to be read and done with—they were a constant study. Always updating. 

She desired not to repeat a chapter, and relive the brief hatred her classmates held before the hesitant acceptance of Hermione’s offer of friendship. 

“Oh.” Lily’s head tilted to the side. “That’s kind of him. He didn’t say anything else? No rumors to spread?”

Hermione laughed quietly. “Er, no, I don’t believe so. Although he did warn me that you and James don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

“It’s more eye to chin,” said James, gesturing to his body as he spoke. 

“Yeah, I can see up that stuffed up nose of yours—full of shîte, I tell you.”

Hermione chuckled once again, Harry on her mind.

***

She sat next to Malfoy. _Willingly._

More so because there were only two chairs available in McGonagall’s office, but that didn’t change the fact that Hermione used her own two legs and, without a noise of discontent, seated herself beside him. 

Her day had passed with ease. Always someone to talk to. Always a task to carry out. There was no time for silence and thinking. But there Hermione was—waiting. She felt restless. Constantly shifting in her seat. Biting the nail of her thumb. When her mind drifted, she repeated lectures in her head. Because she would not think until everything was over, and everything was okay again. Only then, would she hurt. 

She pondered on how Malfoy was feeling about all of it. He kept to himself for the most part and limited his responses in the form of half-hearted shrugs, short head nods, and tamed head shakes. Hermione didn’t blame him. He had no reason to speak to anyone. She did. 

“Your Headmaster informed me of the situation, and while I’m always here to help you, we’ve decided that the best way to guide you both through this process, is through direct communication.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Is that not what we’ve been doing? How many of these pointless meetings am I going to have to suffer through?” 

“You misinterpreted my words, Mr. Malfoy. Dumbledore and I are referring to direct communication between the two of you-“

_“What?”_ Hermione and Malfoy both interjected. 

“Once a week you will meet in my office and 'converse' with one another.” Malfoy went to interrupt once more, but McGonagall simply lifted her hand and continued to speak. “Focus on the interactions you’ve made. What you did worth mentioning. How someone or something reminded you of your life before.”

“You can’t be serious,” Malfoy muttered, running both of his hands over his face. 

“Quite,” she replied, tersely. “You see, Dumbledore is somebody you need. And to keep that need, you must do what he says. We are not trying to torture you, Merlin, no—but this is the best we can do without revealing the truth to another person.”

“Why,” Hermione started, “why do you think we need help in the first place? We seem perfectly fine to me.”

McGonagall gave a knowing look. “You underestimate how much professors notice. Besides, this situation is not normal—that’s clear as day. It doesn’t take a bright witch or wizard to know that messing with time in such a significant way is life altering. Let us help.”

“I don’t want your help.”

Hermione looked to Malfoy and bit the inside of her cheek. She almost agreed with him. She didn’t have time to focus on anything but changing the future. There were things she needed to do. Sitting down for tea with Malfoy and playing catch up was not one of them. 

“Let me rephrase; let Miss Dagworth-Granger help. And vice-versa.”

Malfoy let out a humorless laugh before saying, “I don’t want her help either. I don’t want anything to do with her.” 

“And why is that Mr. Malfoy?”

“She’s- she’s…” Hermione raised a brow, watching Malfoy struggle, intently. “I mean, what do you expect us to _do_? Pour our hearts out over a spot of tea? By no means are we old friends, if that’s what you and that ripened old fool thought.”

“5 points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall declared, glowering at the boy with sharp eyes. “You will take these journals and write about your experiences over the week before exchanging them in my office, every Sunday morning just before breakfast. Once you give them to each other, you will make note of three things they’ve felt or done, and write it down on a piece of parchment. Return the notes to me after dinner, then hand back the journal. This will go on until I see fit.”

“A diary? How embarrassing...”

Hermione suppressed an eye roll. “Your father never seemed to have a problem with those.”

And just like that, the fury she was so accustomed with had rekindled in the black of his eyes. _“Don’t you dare talk about my father.”_

“Why? Want your father to hear it from yourself? You always did go on about how he would hear this or that.”

“Scarhead and Weaselbee aren’t here to protect you anymore,” Malfoy reminded her. “Remember that.”

“Surely you must know that I don’t need _their_ protection from the likes of _you._ ”

His jaw tightened. “Considering the scar on your arm, I’d argue otherwise.”

For a moment, a fleeting, jarring second, Hermione was taken aback. “You seemed to have forgotten who gave me this scar in the first place. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if her deranged behavior ran in the family—as inbred as it is.”

“You-”

“That is quite enough!” McGonagall exclaimed, her eyes wide and unfocused. “You two are dismissed. Go on. And I better not hear a word out of the both of you!”

Hermione snatched the journal and left, quickly heading to the Room of Requirement. She knew she should be going to the Gryffindor tower, back to her dorm-mates, so they can properly get to know one another, but she couldn’t bear returning to the place where Malfoy’s presence would linger. 

The room welcomed her with warm light and familiar faces as she stomped through the entrance. Hermione flung herself down onto the couch and screamed into a pillow, desperate to let out all the anger coursing through her veins. She then sat up and punched whatever was soft and nearby. As the victims came in contact with her fist, Malfoy’s face flashed in her mind, and it fueled her tank of rage. 

Why did it have to be _him?_ Of all the people in Malfoy Manor, why did it have to to be _his_ stiff stick in the arse? 

Hermione berated herself swiftly after the thought. She shouldn’t use Ron’s vile words, as tempting as they were with the blond git. She collapsed near the table and sighed. Thinking back on her past three days, she recalled her time in Dumbledore’s office when she had first woken up in 1976. Malfoy admitted to looking for the time-turner, but his intentions weren’t clear. Nevertheless, it didn’t help his character. Even if he was trying to help her, he still remained a top tier prat. 

Her mind lingered on the memory and she gasped. She had sworn in front of Dumbledore. _Twice._ Taking out a piece of parchment, Hermione scribbled a thorough apology before heading to the school owlery. She was so utterly stupid. 

***

Hermione sat alone in the library the day after. Friday proved to be a particularly loud day in the Gryffindor common room, and that was saying much as every other day had been disturbingly blaring as well. So she took solace between the shelves of massive tomes and looked over her personal notes from horcrux hunting. Nothing had proved to be useful so far. 

With a deep sigh, she tucked the journal back into her beaded bag and closed her eyes. She had spent the night in the Room of Requirement—too lazy to move a muscle and sneak back into the tower—which turned out to be a bad idea as Lily had questioned her whereabouts earlier that morning. Hermione answered nervously, stuttering about how she wanted to have an early breakfast and explore the grounds. 

Hermione then worried over the thought of what others might think of her. For two days straight she had not turned up in the Gryffindor common room. She only passed through the area during the mornings and late into the night. And when Sirius teased her about how she was too busy to hang out with her new mates, she blushed, because he then went on to say that she must get on with the boys and girls of Hogwarts well enough to be parading around at night. 

_Damn that blasted map!_

It wasn’t as if she wanted to pass on their invites. But there were things she had to do. Things she had to plan. 

Her heart tensed in that moment. All the pressure sitting on her chest. All the guilt she held in the palm of her hand. All the lives she _could_ save. _This_ was what it must have felt like to be Harry Potter. 

Hermione shook the thought away. There was no time to feel sad. 

As time went on, and as dinner neared, Hermione found her loosely protected walls breaking. She sat in the back of the library, staring at the bookcase in front of her, her mind blank. It wasn’t until a familiar drawl crashed through her senses, that she finally snapped out of her melancholic stupor. 

Hermione acknowledged the boy with a narrow of her eyes. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

“Hogging the references again, Granger?” He sneered. “Nobody likes to get their hands all muddy when paging through a book, y’know? Mind not drooling all over the library tomes?”

Had she been supernatural, Hermione would’ve left a Malfoy sized hole in the wall through a single glare. His words itched the part of her that carried a level of cruelty. It didn’t matter that she was simply sitting in a public space, minding her own business. He would always seek conflict.

But by that point, his remarks rolled off of her. Her battles went beyond schoolyard bullying.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? A vanishing cabinet to repair? I heard practice makes perfect.” 

“Careful, Granger. If you don’t watch your mouth, I’ll have to do it for you.”

“Don’t get too close, you might catch something,” she retorted, her hands twitching. “I recall Third Year all too well.”

“Shut up.”

“And who knows?” Hermione continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Maybe this time around you’ll actually be the one to murder our Headmaster—make your father proud.”

Malfoy loomed over her, his anger evident in the way his words dripped with venom. “Those friends you’ve been making, they’re gonna end up dead one way or another. Doesn’t matter if Potter is still born. You’re not gonna be anywhere near him. You’ll be _alone_. And hopefully, you’ll die that way too.”

With that, he stalked off, leaving a fuming Hermione to deal with the aftermath. She yanked out the journal McGonagall gave her and began writing. 

_14/03/1976_

_Friday_

_I am not a sadistic person by no means, but if Dicko Malfuck (Ron’s words not mine) dropped dead at this very moment, I would send a gift basket to whoever was on the other side of that wand. He’s an incorrigible bastard with no lick of empathy, and (of course) I just had to be stuck with him. I haven’t felt this murderous since having to deal with Rita Skeeter back in Fourth Year! Maybe I’ll be sending that gift basket to myself. Merlin knows I would be doing everyone a favor._

“You seem happy,” she heard Sirius comment, amusement laced in his tone. 

“Not to be rude,” Hermione began, looking up from her writing, “but shouldn’t you be off fooling around with Remus or-”

_“What?”_

She arched an eyebrow. “Pardon?” 

He laughed forcefully. “Godric, you say the weirdest things sometimes, Hermione. Really. You’re a strange one.”

“Come again?”

“I mean _me_ and _Remus_?” He gave another chuckle as he sat across from her. “We may be best mates but-”

Hermione held up both hands, cutting him off. “I’m sorry, what? Just last night you and him were frolicking in the Great Hall with floor length hair.”

Sirius was quiet for a moment before the slightest tinge of pink flushed his cheeks. “Nevermind. I thought- nevermind. Erm, anyways, what’s got your knickers in a twist? You nearly poked a hole through the table with the way you were going at it.” 

“Oh…” She closed her journal and looked to the side. “I was just writing, er, letting out all my frustration and whatnot. It’s...therapeutic. Good outlet, y’know?”

“Ah. Is everything alright?”

Hermione laughed a little. “Yeah…” She nodded slightly. “Yeah, of course. Just struggling to adjust, I suppose.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding us?”

“I haven’t-”

“Oh come on, Hermione,” he said in a friendly way, “I can tell. You’re pretty out of it during classes, and you may have started out all determined to be included, but that quickly wore off. Kind of disappointed, you seem pretty cool.”

“I’m not trying to- I just.” She let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, okay, I’ll try harder. Just...yeah.”

“Look, I didn’t mean-”

“Sirius, it’s okay. I’m glad, actually, that you told me. I guess I didn’t realize—I’ll do better.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

The way Sirius looked at her...like she mattered—like she was cared for. He barely knew her. None of them did. And yet they were so friendly. So willing to befriend her. Hermione didn’t understand. People didn’t like her the way they liked Harry and Ron. But they were friendly and willing. She didn’t understand. 

“Your book, Mr. Black.” Madam Pince grabbed their attention with her urgent voice. “Take good care of it, will you? I don’t want anymore pumpkin juice stained pages or I’ll use your head as a bookmark.” 

“Hermione?” Sirius questioned as he stood up.

“I’m alright,” she confirmed, giving him a small smile. “I’ll see you in a bit for dinner.”

Hermione ate dinner in the kitchens.

***

The days which passed, blurred together as Hermione’s routine came together. 

She had spent the weekend in the Room of Requirement, staring at her horcrux journal. There were three horcruxes she knew of: Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, Tom Riddle’s diary, and Slytherin’s locket. Harry had also mentioned that he saw the Hufflepuff Cup in the memory of Hokey—Hepzibah Smith’s house elf. He and Dumbledore deduced it to be another horcrux. That made four out of five.

But her problem was not finding out _what_ objects could potentially be a horcrux, no, Hermione struggled to flesh out a plan that would involve _obtaining_ the horcruxes. Over the weekend she attempted to jot down a few possible ways to do so, but each bullet point was eventually crossed out, thus looping her back to the starting point. It scared her to know too much, but at the same time, not know at all. 

Each day seemed to end in failure. Over the course of the week, Hermione would wake up, look through her photographs, stop by the kitchens to grab breakfast—as she did with any other meal—before spending her time in the Room of Requirement—where all of her free time seemed to go. And when it came to classes, she would find herself seated a minute before the bell rang, usually near a corner with a peer just as disinterested. 

She did not sleep in the Gryffindor tower. 

***

“Dagworth-Granger, I was disappointed to not see you in my office last Sunday.”  
  


Hermione looked up at McGonagall in surprise. She had not known there would be a meeting _then._

“But I suppose it was my fault for not clarifying,” her professor added. Malfoy from the seat beside her scoffed. “Then again, I never do seem to catch you at an appropriate time. Tell me, where do you spend your days if not in the library, Gryffindor tower, or the grounds?”

“I...there’s an empty classroom on the fifth floor. I sometimes go there to study, or, well, most of my time.”

McGonagall gave a short nod. “Ah. I see. Well, I won’t hold up much of your time, go on and exchange your journals.”

Hermione passed her diary over to Malfoy in shame. She had only remembered that morning to actually write something down. Her passage was so full of shite, even magic couldn’t make it go down. 

Back in the Room of Requirement, she took Malfoy’s journal and flipped it open, curious to see what he would write in a case such as this, that being said, if he even wrote at all. 

_~~15~~ 17 March 1976_

_Nothing happened. Nobody here is worth mentioning. I don’t feel anything._

She noticed the way the day had been crossed out. The number “15” had once been its place, leading Hermione to believe he had initially not written anything, which McGonagall most likely noticed last Sunday. Although the professor somehow convinced him, it was not much, but it wasn’t as if _she_ could say anything. 

Eventually, Hermione wrote down on a piece of parchment that his week was uneventful, therefore he felt not the need to express his feelings, or make note of any occurrences. 

Later on that day when it was time to hand back the journals, Malfoy had eyed her weirdly, almost as if he was in a state of amusement. The realization why had not slapped her in the face until she was slumped against the floor, in _her_ common room, squinting at an old photograph featuring Ginny and Ron. 

_She hadn’t remembered to rip out her entry from the previous Friday._

Hermione screamed, and screamed, and screamed, filling the silence of the Room of Requirement with her embarrassment. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Only A Few Minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> It's 3 AM, but I have never wrote this fast. Also, Draco's perspective will be written next. I'm thinking every three chapters it will be his time to bitch out.

Hermione avoided Malfoy for the weeks to come.

It wasn’t as if she had to put in any effort. He didn’t want her presence near him either. The only task that came close to difficult, other than her personal mission, was trying to collect enough information throughout the week to write about in her journal. 

She had carried on with her routine throughout the month of March which then bled into the days of April. Each week, she would scrawl a few dry sentences that Malfoy was more than likely having a bit of fun over, and return to her isolated state. Hermione was so sure that she could hear him snickering all the way from the Room of Requirement. The fact that she hadn’t mentioned the Marauders once was plenty to laugh over, as he had targeted them the day she fell into seclusion. 

But her transition to privacy didn’t scare away her fellow Gryffindors. If anything, their levels of determination rose, in hopes of being able to catch her outside of class. Remus had been the most adamant, seeing as how her being barely on time on numerous accounts, ultimately led to him having a different Potions partner. He had already received his response letter from Hector—the contents of which she could easily guess, and as did she. It was a simple introduction of himself. It was something that felt so formal, so stiff that she couldn’t regard him as anything beyond a professional level. 

Not that she could blame him. They may have been family by name, but they were strangers in practice.

Hermione’s resistance to prying eyes, though, had been quickly demolished when on a trip back from the kitchens, one late afternoon, she, quite literally, ran into a familiar face. 

The boy who looked down at her bore the same hooked nose as her ex-Potions Professor, and there, just beside him, was Lily Evans looking flushed.

“Hermione?!” she exclaimed, her eyes bouncing around the corridor. “What are you doing here?”

Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag before looking between the two students. “Er...I got lost.”

“Oh. Okay. D’you need any help?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got it. Thanks. And you? What are you guys doing around here?”  
  


Snape’s glare took hold of her as he took one step closer. “ _That_ is none of your business. Tell me, do you always stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“Sev,” Lily admonished, quietly. 

_Sev?_ Hermione had to stop herself from making a face at the nickname. She didn’t know Harry’s mother was friends with Snape. With the way he acted, and the way Remus talked so highly of her, she didn’t think the witch would associate with such a person. 

“If you know what’s good for you, then keep _this,_ ” Snape nodded to Lily, “to yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

Hermione bit back her tongue and nodded. As she scurried off, Lily called out her name to which she pointedly ignored. She did not want to find herself in the middle of _that_ mess. Perhaps Snape was the reason Lily and James had taken so long to get together. 

“There she is! There she is! I’ve got her!” 

Hermione whirled around to find Sirius running towards her at full speed, a wicked grin spread across his face. Her lips parted in confusion and she found herself walking backwards until she bumped into someone’s chest. 

“Gotcha.” _James._

Two hands clamped around her arms and before she could say a word, her body was thrown over Sirius’ shoulder. The boys sang off-key to an improvised tune about her being caught as she protested loudly, and it wasn’t until they were in the Gryffindor Common Room that they finally slammed her down against one of the couches. Their presence caught several eyes, including Malfoy’s, who was once reading casually by the fireplace.

“Gee, Hermione, I haven’t seen you in ages,” Sirius stated, patting her knee. “You’re like a bloody shadow—always there, can’t quite get my hands on you...what’s that look for?” 

Hermione kept her scowl sharp and pointed. “You can’t just up and kidnap students like they’re a sack of potatoes, you-”

“Whoa, you sounded like Evans there for a second,” James interjected. “Don’t you agree, Sirius?”

“I dunno. She’s usually up your arse about everything, so.”

The boy thought for a moment before nodding in amusement. “Yeah, she is, isn’t she? What were you saying again, Herms?” 

Hermione almost threatened to lead him into a den of wolves, but that would’ve given him away as an animagus. Instead, she settled for, “Call me that again and I’ll make sure Lily isn’t the only one up your arse.”

Sirius looked to his best friend swiftly, and they stared at one another for a lingering moment before bursting into a fit of laughter. Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering “boys” under her breath. 

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,” she said, her ears dipped in pink. “Now will you two shut it already?”

James sobered after a few moments, trying to catch his breath. “Merlin, you’re a funny one. You can’t even blame us for hauling you up here.”

“I actually can and did, so if you will excuse me-”

“Wait, wait, wait...wait.” Hermione paused from where she stood, looking at James expectantly. “Are you avoiding me?”

Sirius reached over and smacked him upside the head before looking back towards her. “He’s kidding,” he said, while James shook his head with a thin smile, mouthing “No, I’m not.”

“Am I here for a reason or are you two fooling around?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Sirius caught himself shortly after his slip up, and slapped his forehead. “Sorry, I keep forgetting.”

James frowned. “Forgetting what?”

“That connotations exist,” Hermione answered as Sirius blushed. “I have work to do. Are you guys going to explain or what?”

“Relax, Hermione,” said Sirius. “We haven’t hung around you in weeks. Plus, don’t think I forgot about how you stood me up for dinner.”

“You agreed to go on a date with this git?” James then got another blow to the head. “Hey!”

“She told me she’d see me in the Great Hall a month ago—haven’t seen her in since.”

James began laughing. “That’s funny. She probably thought you were trying to come on to her.” He turned to her, smiling. “Can’t say I blame you for going into hiding. He’s a bit of a- I swear if you hit me one more time, Padfoot!”

“Anywho, that’s hardly the problem,” Sirius began, ignoring his best friend. “I’m more worried about how you’ve been getting by without us catching you. It’s turned into a game, you see. Spot Hermione, five sickles. Talk to Hermione, one galleon. _Catch_ Hermione, five galleons.”

Hermione ran her tongue over her teeth. “And who exactly owes you six galleons and five sickles?”

James and Sirius glanced at each other. “I’m afraid to say ‘you’” the former admitted before quickly retracting his words as she narrowed her eyes, “which is why I won’t bother saying it.” 

“Right...alright, then. You’ve got what you wanted.” Hermione moved to leave, but Sirius blocked her path. “What are you doing?”

“We didn’t go through all of that for you to up and leave.”

“And people say I’m dense,” said James.

“Hang around for a bit, will you? We’re just a couple of friendly blokes trying to befriend a not-so-friendly bird. I dunno what you’ve been up to, but it can hold off for a little while, yeah?”

Hermione sighed deeply. “Yeah, I suppose. Although, I don’t know why you’re so keen on me being here—I’m not all that interesting.”

“Is that what this has been all about?”

She thought for a moment. It wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. Hermione didn’t know what was wrong with her. Befriending Harry’s parents and the Marauders was a key factor in altering the future, and doing so was much easier than she thought with the way they were, but something was happening to her. She didn’t know what. 

“No, it’s not,” Hermione replied, sitting back down. “I’ve never been like that. I’m just...busy.”

“Busy doing what? Our workload isn’t too overbearing, and you seem rather brilliant.” 

She looked at James and was silent for a moment. He sounded like Harry then. “Personal project of sorts. Much similar to my great-grandfather’s, but probably not related.” It scared her how easily she could lie in that moment. 

“That reminds me,” Sirius started. “Peter’s been wanting to talk to you—something about Potions. He also said Slughorn was a bit glum to not see you at his party.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Shite.” She had forgotten about that stupid Slug-club meeting a while ago.

Sirius laughed. “Maybe that’s why he’s been so pissy for the past few weeks.”

“Oi!” She heard Remus’ voice sound throughout the room. “How come you guys didn’t come back to the library... _oh._ Glad to see you again, Hermione! It’s been a while.”

It was almost embarrassing for her to hear it so often.

“We kidnapped her,” James said proudly. 

Remus palmed his face as he took the seat next to her. “You can’t do that, James—you’ll get expelled.”

“Exactly!” Hermione voiced, throwing her hands up in the air. 

“Tell me next time, so I can make sure that you won’t.”

“Oh, you-” She cut herself off with a shake off the head. 

“Hey, Pete,” Sirius greeted as Pettigrew made his way over to them, his eyes trained on a piece of parchment. “Whatcha got there?”

“Remus’ Charms paper,” he answered before looking up. His eyes settled on Hermione and a look of confusion washed over his features. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve managed to do the impossible,” Sirius replied, a smug smile curved into his lips. “We got Hermione here to stick around in the common room for a bit.”

She still didn’t understand why they took a liking to _her._

“Hmm.” Pettigrew nodded appreciatively before taking a seat by James. 

Hermione studied the way the boy moved and interacted with the others. She watched how big his smile would get when one of his friends would laugh at one of his comments—how it never quite reached his eyes. The way he spoke was hurried, because even if Pettigrew started out loud, time went on and his spotlight wore off—he grew to be quiet. He looked at his friends as if they were heroes and he was merely a civilian, waiting to be saved. 

At first, she thought Pettigrew to be unimportant, but the longer she appraised him, the more she realized that he was anything but. He was someone who added to the punchline, never created. Who never shared anything personal unless asked. Who took suggestions and turned them into actions, if only to please those who were willing to watch. He was a bit of entertainment, and a groveller—a distraction. That was what he seemed to be—someone to make time pass a little faster.

Hermione didn’t notice during her time with the boys that an hour had already passed. People had come and left the common room, but not Malfoy, she noticed. He stayed rooted to his spot by the fireplace, reading. She wondered briefly if he interacted with any of the Marauders. She knew they shared the same dormitory.

If he acted any differently to them to the way he was with her, Hermione didn’t know. The only time she really saw him was in McGonagall’s office. As for how his time was being spent, it started out as the same thing. Nothing to note. But the previous week he had added an entry about an annoying occurrence with one of the Third Years. Something about them not looking where they were going and his desire to screw their head on straight.

It almost reminded her of their time back in Hogwarts. _Their_ Hogwarts.

It was strange to think something could be theirs, and not his or hers. The fact that they shared something was enough to confirm that there was something definitely wrong with the world. Somebody or something was laughing at her—at the situation she was in. How entertaining it would be, as an outsider, to witness Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy be forced together in a place where only _they_ could share something as intimate and tragic as their past within the future. 

“Hey.” Sirius nudged Hermione slightly, knocking her out of her dazed state. “You alright?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, sure, erm, I think I’m gonna go.”

“Dinner doesn’t start for another twenty minutes,” Remus said, his head tilted. 

“Library,” she stated as if her reply didn’t need any further explanation. 

James raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you doing in there?”

If Harry was there with her, he would’ve said something along the lines of, “It’s Hermione. What doesn’t she do in there?” 

And if Ron was there beside them, he would’ve added, “Not me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” No. He wouldn’t say that, after Hermione gave it a second thought. Ron had a troubling time with dissecting his feelings towards her in Fourth Year; he wouldn’t outwardly flirt with her so casually unless it was by accident. He _would_ think it though, but instead of speaking his mind, he’d simply warn the person to never question what Hermione does in the library during her free time. 

And _she’d_ roll her eyes, muttering, “You guys are ridiculous,” before swinging her book bag over her shoulder and taking her leave.

But they weren’t there, so nobody would say anything except her. 

“I have a few books to return.”

Sirius chuckled. “Yeah, I can tell. Nearly broke my back in half carrying you up those stairs.”

She glowered at him before making her way out of the room.

“And Hermione?” he called out just as she was about to pass through the portrait. She stopped and gave a noise of acknowledgement. “Come to dinner—please.”

At that moment, she didn’t want to lie, so she didn’t say anything, and left. 

***

Hermione found herself wandering the corridors aimlessly once she left Gryffindor tower. She had come across an unfamiliar set of doors in a lowly lit area where no one seemed to pass through. She wondered why. 

Without hesitation, she passed through those doors with ease and walked in. Within the room, Hermione found her headmaster standing, looking at something she couldn’t quite make out until she took a few steps closer. It was a mirror. 

“Good evening, Miss Dagworth-Granger.”

Her response was small and quiet. “Hello.”

“Doing a bit of exploring, I see?”

“Er, yeah.” She brushed back a piece of hair. “I wasn’t looking for anything in particular.”

“Those who come across the greatest treasures never are.”

Taking another step closer, Hermione was presented with a full view of the mirror. “What is it?”

Dumbledore gave a small smile and stepped aside. “Take a look for yourself.”

Now in his place, she was granted the ability to see her reflection in full. But there on each side of her, was Harry and Ron. And behind them, her parents, and Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys, and Neville, and Luna, and Crookshanks, and even the classmates she was never that close with. She saw all the people who made trying to change the future worth it. 

Something ached in the back of her throat. 

“I thought a proper goodbye was appropriate.”

Her lips parted, but she did not turn around to address him. “What?”

“It’s important to change its location every once in a while. I find that its presence destroys even the strongest of hearts. You caught me on another parting.”

“How often do you come across it?” Her voice sounded strange. It was weak and breathy. 

“I’d like to say I never look for the mirror intentionally, but I do find myself in front of it on more than one occasion.”

“What happens if you can’t step away?”

She felt his hand on her shoulder after a moment's worth of time. “You can.”

Hermione continued to stare at her family and friends. 

She never wanted to look at them like this again. She never wanted to feel this way again.

Hermione didn’t want to see them, if they couldn’t see her.

So she closed her eyes and walked away. 

She didn’t stop walking until she was far, far away—until she was back in front of the Room of Requirement, pacing back and forth, thinking about how much she wanted to go back and be with them, even if she could only return to a memory. A few minutes, that was all she needed.

When Hermione entered the room, her eyes took in, with surprise, the empty space that welcomed her. The only thing that occupied the area was a device, one that she once read about and recognized after a few moments—a pensieve. It sat on a table, and she quickly made her way over to it. 

She reminded herself once more that a few minutes was all she needed.

Hermione did not make it to dinner that night. 

***

Hermione Granger was never late to class.

And she confirmed it so when she got ready in a few minutes time, and with swift steps made it to her first class just before the bell rang. Before, she always had a minute or two to spare. The day after she discovered the pensieve, it was down to a few seconds.

But still, Hermione Granger was never late to class.

She had only gotten a few hours of sleep that night. Most of it was spent watching herself with her best friends, reliving memories that she could clearly make out. And sometimes, to her heart’s desires, one of them would look her way, and she’d smile so bright, Hermione was nearly surprised she didn’t blind them.

Her lack of rest became apparent during Potions, and while Sirius was pointedly annoyed with her, he still elbowed the witch awake. 

She remembered doing the same to Ron last night. 

***

Hermione Granger was never late to class.

The only exception being one Thursday morning when she thought she could skip breakfast and spend a few more minutes under the pensieve. She had not set a timer and was now a few minutes late.

She never _enjoyed_ lying, but seeing as how she’d been doing it so much recently, Hermione had gotten quite good at it. This was proved correct when Professor Kettleburn excused her tardiness when she made up a story of how she bumped into a few first years who needed help on the way.

This time, when the witch fell asleep, no one went to wake her up.

***

She strove to not be late that Friday, and she wasn’t.

Actually, Hermione showed up to Transfiguration with more than a few minutes to spare. The only problem was, that with one look at her, Professor McGonagall had her off to the Hospital Wing in moments, going on about how she needed a check up of some sort.

Offended, she took a detour, back to the Room of Requirement. 

Back to her family and friends.

Back to Harry and Ron. 

***

Nobody saw Hermione Granger that Saturday, but then again, they never did. 

***

Hermione woke up early Sunday morning. 

She was so happy with herself for getting up on time. So much, in fact, that the girl decided to reward herself with a few minutes—only a few—down in the pensieve, after she wrote something down for her journal.

_19/04/1976_

_Sunday_

_I used to think that there was something wrong with me, but I think I’m getting better now._

Hermione didn’t care at that moment that Malfoy would know she waited until the very last minute to jot something down. She was happy. Things were okay now.

And when she found herself scrambling to get ready when she spent more time than she should have with the pensieve, she remembered in the back of her mind that in the end, it didn’t matter. Because when she was done with her meeting with McGonagall, she would return home.

Her home which was still her common room, but now occupied by her family and friends, thanks to the pensieve that was added. All the photographs which she had hung or placed, were now turned around or laid flat—hidden, because they were a mockery of who she knew. 

While her place had transitioned into one that was untidy with her belongings all strung about, it was still warm and familiar. And the sooner she left, the sooner she could come back.

So Hermione reached for her bag from the floor and grabbed the journal which was found near the fireplace, before making her way to McGonagall’s office. 

And when she returned, nobody saw Hermione Granger for two weeks.


	4. Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Hermione's perspective will return next chapter. I did mess up on the date and have now fixed the time setting in all chapters, but it's the year 1976 not 1975. I forgot that they landed in the second half of the school year.

The moment Draco tried to open the journal, it burned him. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, not caring about the students whom pushed passed him in the middle of the corridor. Was this her strange way of pulling a joke? Because if he knew one thing, Hermione Granger wasn’t funny, and this did nothing to help her case. 

Standing up straight, the boy searched for a certain witch in the crowd, intent on striking up an argument. But he soon found that, like Black had commented a few days ago, she was like a shadow, and her presence was swallowed by an invisible force whenever she left a room. He wasn’t going to give up that easily, though. 

Wandering around the fifth floor corridor, Draco kept his eyes peeled for empty classrooms that Granger could potentially be hiding in. But with each door he pushed open, another vacant space welcomed him. Could she have been in the Great Hall all of this time?

No. She never was. Although, maybe it was because she knew he’d think so, that the girl would seek solace in the dining area. When he checked, the theory had been proved wrong. Hermione Granger was nowhere to be found. Not in the library. Or the grounds. Definitely not in the common room.

A fire lit up in his chest. Draco wasn’t about to endure another lecture from the old crone he called his Transfiguration Professor. He hadn’t even done anything to annoy Granger in weeks. What was this bullshite? A bad play at a friendly prank? 

He shook his head from where he sat in the common room. That girl was never friendly, especially not towards him. Maybe it was a botched murder attempt. That sounded more like it. Granger had finally gone barmy and was trying to off him. It’d certainly explain her behavior for the past few days. Nobody knew the witch like he did—there, in this time period, specifically—and what he _did_ know, was that there was something definitely wrong with her. 

Hermione Granger would rather scrub Filch’s office top to bottom than be tardy. It just wasn’t in her nature.

But Draco didn’t care. If she had finally gone mad and was on some killing spree, she had not started off on a good foot, and that humored him. The only problem was that he would not hear the end of it if he didn’t turn in his notes by the end of day. 

With an eye-roll, he tried once more to open the journal. This time it zapped him twice and started screeching. Catching the eyes of many, Draco cursed and sent a silencing charm at it. He hadn’t struggled with something like this in so long. It faintly reminded him of Third Year. 

He also hadn’t thought of his time in a while. His days were usually spent in the library or the common room, reading books that he never bothered with in the past. The things he did now to make the day go by a little faster, were once things he never gave a second thought to. Often, Draco would find himself in the courtyard, watching people, sketching them, wondering what unimportant conversation they were having. But it was those moments he noticed, that made living bearable.

“Why are you getting so worked up over her, Padfoot? Honestly, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

Draco did his best to not make a noise of disgust as the original Four-Eyes came crashing through the entrance with the rest of his unbearably loud followers.

“I just can’t stop thinking about her,” his cousin replied, flopping down on the couch. Draco had noticeably scooted away from the wizard. 

Lupin studied his friend carefully. “I thought you said you didn’t fancy Hermione.”  
  


Draco nearly fell out of his seat. 

“I don’t, but I- she’s- I don’t know how to explain it.” Black groaned as his face met the palms of his hands. “I don’t think she likes us.”

“Now hold on,” Potter Sr. stepped in. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this.”

“Yeah, she probably doesn’t,” voiced Lupin. “We came on pretty strong. Not everyone can handle the two of you—couple of prats you are.”

“Wha- we didn’t even do anything.”

Lupin looked to his spectacled friend and snorted. “I distinctly remember you kidnapping her a few days ago.”

“You said you would’ve helped if you were there!”

“Yeah...I did say that.”

“Why’s Hermione so important, anyways?” Questioned Wormtail. 

At least _he_ was asking the right questions, Draco thought.

“I dunno,” Black admitted. “But she keeps avoiding us for some reason and I intend to find out why. There’s something _off_ with her—it’s concerning, to say the least.”

“Hey, Malfoy.” Draco hesitantly looked to his ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. “D’you think everything’s okay with Hermione? She doesn’t seem weird to you, does she?”

He considered leaving for a moment, but with their persistence, Draco knew it would be better to get them off his back now then later. “No, and I don’t care.”

“Wait, which-”

“Right, then.” Lupin interjected Wonder Git the First. “Let’s just try and talk to her tomorrow, guys. I’m sure we’ll be able to catch her.”

Looking back at the journal, Draco couldn’t help but think he had a few words for Granger himself. 

***

Either she had officially lost her mind, or decided to embrace her reckless trait, because the witch who had been on his mind for the better part of Sunday did not attend the second meeting in McGonagall’s office. 

And when Draco went to rip her a new one in the morning, she had not turned up. Not to Ancient Runes. Not to Charms. Not to Transfiguration. Not to any of their classes. 

He should’ve been happy with Granger’s absence, but she still had his journal, and without it, he was slowly becoming undone. 

It had become his outlet and she took that away from him. The next time Draco came across her, he promised himself to return the favor.

Someway, somehow, he was going to get his hands on Hermione Granger.

***

_“Fuck.”_

Draco had peeped his head into the Arithmancy classroom in attempts to spot Granger, but with no luck, she was nowhere to be found. It was the last class of the day on the last day of week. _Hermione Granger had not attended any classes for a week._

What kind of sick joke was this?

It started out with Professors repeating her name for attendance and no hands shooting in the air in return. As time went on, it slowly progressed to checking in with classmates who she most interacted with—somehow he was a part of them, and yet, nobody, including himself, were of any help. Staff members went out looking for her on the grounds—Hagrid had even ventured into the Forbidden Forest—but she hadn’t turned up. 

They put up missing person posters. 

When Draco first saw them, his heart skipped a beat, for there was a possible chance that he was now alone. And after torturing himself over the different places she could be, something had occurred to him. It could’ve been that it was not a matter of where, but when. 

She could’ve returned to their time without him. 

He pushed the possibility to the back of his mind, refusing to even entertain the thought. _He was not alone._ Draco repeated it daily to keep him going, and now, he couldn’t even think of the words without _that_ part of his brain teasing him. 

If Granger wasn’t dead, he would kill her himself. 

“Watch where you’re going, arsehole.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek before swinging his heel and coming face to face with a dark haired boy. He looked oddly familiar.

“I don’t need shite from someone who doesn’t even know which finger a signet ring goes on, so just piss off, why don’t you?”

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes. “I bet you don’t even know which family this ring belongs to.”

Draco took one glance before running his tongue over his teeth. He scoffed, replying shortly after with, “House of Black.”

Before the boy could reply, Draco stalked off. It was just his luck that he would run into another cousin. 

On his way to the fifth-floor, he found himself unable to bite back his tongue. Draco began muttering to himself. It was nonsensical to even himself, but the words kept falling out of his mouth like vomit. All of the frustration around his neck released its hold, allowing the boy to finally breathe. 

It had been so long. 

So he kept talking, talking, and talking, in a hushed, yet hurried way, as if his thoughts couldn’t escape him fast enough. The looks he received were never acknowledged—never returned. When a seventh year asked if he was alright, Draco kept walking—kept talking. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t help it. 

He tried to open the journal again.

When it didn’t budge, Draco tossed it without a care in the world. Fuck Granger for making him this way. It was her fault in the first place that they were stuck in 1976, and now he was alone.

No, not alone. He couldn’t be. _Not alone._ It left his mouth continuously. 

Before Draco even knew what he was doing, he was making his way back to Regulus Black. He eventually found the wizard en route to the library, but just before he could enter, Draco grabbed him by the crook of his arm and shoved him into the nearest broom closet.

“What the fuck is your prob-” Regulus cut himself off as he noticed who had captured him. “Oh for Salazar’s sake, not you again!”

“I used to say that all the time when I was in Slytherin, but I’m not, I’m not anymore, and it’s driving me mad. I can’t stand being a Gryffindor—it’s an insult! It’s an insult to me. It’s an insult to everything I represent. It’s an insult to the Malfoy family name. If my father knew of this, he’d have the Sorting Hat destroyed and buried, but I can’t even tell him. He’d never believe me! Not him. Not Mother. Not even that biscuits for brains house-elf!”

“You...you need help.” Regulus reached for the door, but Draco was quicker.

“You’re not going anywhere. You can’t. You can’t leave. If you leave, I’ll be alone, and I can’t be alone right now. I might do something I’ll regret, like something really bad, because if I did do that, I think they’d send me to St. Mungoes to have my head checked. But maybe not. That long bearded toad knows, so maybe he’d tell them I’m actually fine. And I am fine. There’s nothing wrong with me-”

“Can you even hear yourself? Step back.”

“I can’t do that. I need to tell someone. I need to tell someone instead of everyone. I need to do this, because if I don’t, I won’t be able to stop talking, and I can’t stop talking—I don’t know why. But there’s nothing wrong with me. There’s never anything wrong with a Malfoy, and I’m a Malfoy, so there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m okay...I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m-”

“Get a hold of yourself, will you?!” Regulus shook him by the shoulders. “Just tell me so I can leave already, Merlin.”

“You faintly remind me of Blaise and Theo—they were two of the few close mates I had back in 1998. Although you don’t seem as self-obsessed or quiet like they were, and I hardly doubt you’re as thick as Crabbe or Goyle—can’t believe I actually miss the bastards. And not Crabbe and Goyle as in their fathers, I mean the sons of those fathers that you are probably familiar with. Tell me, have they been chosen as death eaters yet-”

A hand clamped over Draco’s mouth. 

“Do you have a bloody death wish?!” Regulus exclaimed. “What are you going on about now? Back in 1998? Crabbe and Goyle? How d’you even know them? They graduated years ago. And-” He lowered his voice, “death eaters…? Don’t tell me you’re a spy for _him._ ” A look of fear crossed the boy’s eyes. “Don’t tell me this is an initiation of some sort. I-”

“Of course not. You honestly think You-Know-Who would take in a fourteen year old boy? Give it two years, will you? I know your parents are rather eager, but your time will come, well, according to Mother, anyway. I didn’t pay too much attention, and neither do you, apparently, I told you I meant Crabbe and Goyle as in the ones who are yet to be born and-”  
  


“What do you mean ‘yet to be born’? And how do you know about death-eaters if you’re not one yourself? And who’s You-Know-Who?”

“Hmm. Maybe you are as thick as Crabbe and Goyle, after all, and look at that, you even take orders well.” Draco then gestured to the ring on Regulus’ finger. “Can’t say I’m not surprised with parents like yours. At least my father had the decency to lay off and let himself take the blunt of it. I suppose we all can’t descend from greatness, I mean, look at your shoes, they’re not even real dragon-hide. I dunno who told you anything _faux_ was appropriate for casual wearing but-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“-it’s fairly hideous. They say you’re the next best heir of the Black family, but you certainly don’t look the part. Barely tamed hair and no presentable heirlooms? The least you could do is wear a watch from that family vault of yours. There’s hundreds to choose from, so don’t go on about how there isn’t—I bet you’re not even a good liar. At least your brother has the decency to not pretend to be something he isn’t. I honestly wonder why Walburga didn’t blast his name off the family tree sooner—he probably would’ve been better off staying with that butterbeer-bottle decorated dimwit from the day he was sorted into Gryffindor. Merlin knows how much trauma it would’ve saved him-”

_“Are you fucking mental?”_

Draco raised an eyebrow, slightly offended. “Of course not.”

“Well-”

“Huh. I think I’ll be going now.”

Gobsmacked, Regulus took a step back automatically. “Wha-”

“I suggest you keep your mouth shut otherwise your head might be mounted among all of your other beloved house-elves.”

“You can’t just-”

Draco slammed the door shut and composed himself. He couldn’t resist the stream of anxiety flowing into his system as he made his way to the bathroom. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ He had fucked everything up. Everything he strove not to do, he did within a matter of minutes. All because of a single run-in with someone he could’ve easily ignored. But there was no stopping it. The exasperation and fear that had built up over the past week, clawed its way up his throat and threatened to do something about it if he didn’t.

And he did.

Fuck—he did. He did. He did. He did. He did.

He threw up.

Hunched over the toilet, Draco felt his morning breakfast rise and fall. He threw up so hard—so much—that he began to cry. When his body finally hit the floor, he dropped his head onto his knees and kept telling himself over and over again that he wasn’t alone. That he needed to keep breathing. That he was going to be okay.

Like his mother would’ve told him if she was there. 

If she was there, she would’ve brushed the hair away from his forehead, cringing only slightly as her fingertips brushed past the sweaty surface. If she was there, she would’ve hummed softly and let him rest his head on her bosom. If she was there, he would’ve been okay. If his mother was there, she would whisper just before his eyes fell shut, that he wasn’t alone. 

But she wasn’t there, so she wouldn’t do any of that. Draco still thought of her, though, pretending that she was. And after a bit of time, the feeling stopped, and he was okay again. 

Draco had to stop thinking for a while. 

***

Granger didn’t show up to McGonagall’s office that Sunday.

He should’ve known better than to think that there was the smallest chance she would be present, but stupidity had gotten the better of him. And when Draco returned from the meeting to the common room, he soon realized that he wasn’t the only one acting like a complete git. 

“I’m telling you, if we just-”

Lupin gave Black a knowing look, immediately cutting the boy off. “We go in the morning. You can’t honestly think venturing into the Dark Forest at a time like this, is a good idea, do you, Sirius?”

“I am completely serious.” Old Potter whacked his friend’s head at that. “Wha- I am. Oh, come on. We’ll be fine! Won’t we, James?”

He shrugged, scratching at the back of his head. “Probably.”

“And Pete, you agree with me, don’t you?”

“Of course.” 

It was at that moment, that Lupin realized Draco was in the room. He looked to him with a hopeful twinkle in his eye. “Hey, Malfoy, you know Hermione better than us. D’you think she would go exploring out in the Dark Forest?”

Draco pretended not to hear him.

“Brilliant!” He heard the spectacled one clap his hands together. “Let’s bring him along. I’m sure he’s up for an adventure—total swot that he is.”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, so he does speak?” Black had joined in. “You plan on giving us an answer or are you going to continue to stick your nose in that dusty old book?”

“Are you that much of a dumb cunt or do you not realize she’s probably dead and buried somewhere beneath the grounds?”

Expecting him to blow up, Black only grinned crazily. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he tantalized. “I know she’s still alive because James saw her.”

That caught Draco’s attention. “What do you mean he saw her?”

“I’ll tell you if you agree to come along.”

He paused to contemplate. Knowing them, they probably would find some way to kill Granger if she wasn’t dead in the first place. “Fine.”

The Four-Eyed Git slapped Black on the back before gesturing for Draco to follow them. “Only I was able to catch it, but I did see her somewhere in the Dark Forest just a few minutes ago.”

“And just how exactly did you know it was her? Those glasses of yours tell a different story—full offence.”

He only laughed, the noise eliciting an uncomfortable swirl in Draco’s stomach. Had he been saying too much? “Her name-”

“James can see perfectly well!” Wormtail interjected, giving his best friend a worried look. “He, er, is the best at seeing out of all of us.”

“Right…” Draco settled his stare ahead of him. “You lot are not the best of liars—you’re not the best of anything, actually.”

“Spend a few more hours in our presence and we’ll prove you wrong,” Father Potter replied. “I’m actually fairly good at a lot of things.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Which are?”

“A lot.”

“I don’t want to speak to you anymore.”

“He’s an honest bloke,” Draco heard him say to Lupin. “I never do come across any of those—it’s almost admirable.”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Black added on. 

Lupin snorted, walking ahead to where he was. “He can hear you, you know.”

“He won’t say anything, though.” Before Potter could continue, Wormtail grabbed his attention, ultimately shifting his focus. 

“Tell me about her.”

Draco looked to Lupin and frowned slightly. “Granger?”

With a sheepish smile, his former professor scratched the back of his head. “I feel like I’m missing something, y’know? If she told Sirius something, he definitely didn’t tell us. James goes along with him because they’re best mates, but I want to know what Sirius sees in her that I don’t.”

“I don’t know her.”

“Why not?”

Draco bit his tongue. “We’re not friends.”

“You _can_ know someone without being friends with them. Look at all of us right now. We may not _know_ Hermione, but we’re still trying to find her, aren’t we?”

“It is not a Gryffindor trait to go out of one’s way and act like a couple of twits?”

Lupin chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose it is, but we also know it’ll pay off in the end. I’d just like to know what Sirius sees beyond the surface level with her. He’s not this insistent, usually.”

“Curious?”

“About what?”

Draco shrugged. “You tell me. Him or her?”

He took on a thoughtful expression and said, “Both.” Lupin looked back to his friends who were talking animatedly about an upcoming quidditch match before lowering his voice and asking, “Why are you here?”

“What?”

“You know...you say you don’t know her, so why bother? We have our reason—Sirius, and Sirius has his reason—her. What’s your reason?”

“She has something of mine—I’d like it back.”

Lupin hummed. “I would say to search her dorm, but I heard from Evans that it turns out she wasn’t even sleeping there. All of her stuff is gone.”

Draco swallowed. _Not alone._

“Makes you wonder where she could have been all of this time. Probably not anyone else’s four poster.” 

But Draco wasn’t wondering _where_ all of this time, he was thinking _when_ in time. 

At this point, he couldn’t push the thought to the back of his mind, especially when they returned without her later that night. 

***

When Granger didn’t attend McGonagall’s meeting the next week, Draco received a lengthy chat from his professor about how they would move on in the sessions without her. 

By the end of it, he was so drained—so dejected, that he decided to give up. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone. Draco Malfoy was perfectly fine. And when his search with the Gryffindor freak show ended last Friday, he took it out on Regulus. The words which left him made no sense and could barely be registered, but after only a few minutes of ridding himself of the truth, he felt better. He felt lighter.

He threw up. He berated himself. He fell asleep on the bathroom floor. The process was not normal to Draco yet, but it was familiar, and that scared him. He promised himself that he was fine, and that his mother would say the same thing, so the boy calmed down, and went on with his routine. 

And now he found himself in the kitchens, exchanging words with a random house-elf as ordered by McGonagall. Draco almost laughed in her face—he settled on a simple snort—but went along with her wishes anyway. He didn’t care anymore. 

“Oh, Meela loves tea tins! Meela has a collection of them from Meela’s previous masters that come in lots of shapes and sizes. Would you like to see them, Sir? Meela does have many.”

“No.”

The house-elf nodded furiously. “That’s quite alright, Sir. I’ve heard it before, Sir. Meela apologizes for asking. Is there anything more that Sir would like to say?”

“No.”

“Is there anything that Meela can serve Sir? Anything at all?”

“No.”

Just then a house-elf popped in besides Meela, their eyes buzzing and their hands twitching. “Loony needs your help Meela! Right now! Right now!”

“What’s going on Loony? What’s Meela supposed to do?” 

“Miss is hurting herself! Miss is hurting herself!”

Draco frowned from the small table where he sat. “Who?”

“Loony cannot say, Sir. Loony has been forbidden to tell anyone about Miss if not Loony or Meela. Meela must hurry before Miss-”

“If you want your _Miss_ to stop hurting herself, then maybe you should seek help from someone who can actually do something about it.”

“It would be against Miss’ orders-”

“What about my orders? I order you to take me to your Miss right now.”

Loony was struck down with fear. “But-”

“Go on. I won’t ask twice.”

Hesitantly, Loony and Meela took a hold of Draco and apparated away. When he landed with a huff, his eyes settled on the girl before him—skin and bones, tangled hair, and bleeding.

_Hermione Granger._


End file.
